


Solasmancers Drabbles

by pentuppen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: All Prompts, Drabbles, Drabbles are dangerously tricksey buggers, F/M, Humor, I regret nothing aside from stupid spelling mistakes made at 3am!, Just me having fun in the name of solasmancers, Okay so there is definitely smut here., probably some eventual smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 22:18:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8551339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pentuppen/pseuds/pentuppen
Summary: This is where i intend to place all my drabbles from the solasmancers prompts, some will be sticking to the 100 word limit challenge, others will not!Have  prompt request? Leave it in the comments section!





	1. 100 word limit Collection

**Prompt:** Kitchen staff at Skyhold note he eats little but has peculiar requirements about tea. Maybe describe these requirements either from Solas' pov, or perhaps Lavellan spying on him? Guilty/defensive Solas caught with tiny cakes/confections as a bonus.

 

I couldn't fit the cakes into a 100 word drabble so i made two!

 

Tea of the Gods

He moves with a militaristic grace, the items laid upon the tray as precisely as the markers that moved across the war room map. Three different types of leaves, shredded to precise measurements. The care with which the water is poured, is almost the same as a man disarming a particularly dangerous trap. Not one drop more or less than is needed. The final straw comes with the honey. Three precise drips, the rest captured in one leisurely sweep of his tongue on the heel of a soft, secretive sigh. Never has she so badly wanted be a spoon.

 

* * *

Of all the Reasons to Blush

The slam of the drawer is almost a thunderclap in the usual silence of the Rotunda. A sound that all but announces his unwanted guilt.

Her brows lift, his draw together, yet she isn’t fooled, it's there plain as day on his face.

He will never blush when he ambushes her with flirtatious connotations.or in those rare moments where need overrides his will, and his lips seek hers in the secret spaces of Skyhold.

She ignores his glare and slides the drawer open with one sly finger, her grin victorious because apparently he  _ will _ blush over..tiny...frilly...cakes.

* * *

**Prompt:** Allergies! Solas and/or Lavellan is allergic to something common/mundane (dust, trees, elfroot, etc.) Uncontrollable sneezing, itchyness, miserable elf grumpyness.

Bonus: Lavellan: "Isn't there a spell for this?"

* * *

** There are no Allergies in the Fade **

The explosive sneeze triggered another errant burst of lightning from her hand. It grounded itself in the sand between her feet, leaving another smoking crater. If the Venatori truly wished to find them they need only follow the random piles of twisted glass.

“Isn’t there a spell for this?”

“Not one that wouldn’t remove your nose in the process Vehnan”

She trudged on ahead, sniffling and holding out her hand stiffly in case of another attack. Solas sighed as he watched her take the lead, withdrawing the rose from behind his back, he silently swore to never listen to Varric again.

* * *

**Prompt ******Iron Bull: Hey, Solas, you ever do your Fade thing and pretend you can fly? Just flap your arms and zip around in there?

* * *

** Flapping **

It is youth's folly that draws him to the edge of the fade touched cliff. Yet dignity still demands he search his surroundings thoroughly for any prying eyes that might observe this most dangerous of experiments  
A few steps back to work up his courage, then his feet hit the floor in a dead run, arms lifting and falling, increasing in speed until they fan at the air, swift as a hummingbird as he made the leap with almost balletic grace.  
It is only when he has reset both legs that he decides Dirthamen is a lying bastard!.

* * *

* * *

**Prompt:** Lavellan decided to wear the Antaam-Saar armor on a mission. Solas has concerns over it's ...low armor rating. (Or any reaction to it you wish.) OR Lavellan tries to convince Solas to wear it.

* * *

** Antaam-Saar Blue Balls **

She spread out her arms, displaying the full effect of the garment, her soft grin faltering when his lips thinned in a disapproving line.

“What’s wrong?”

Tapered fingers drummed on the desk, brow arching as if to say that the answer should be perfectly obvious.

“Our next port of call is Emprise du lion yes? You will freeze, also you appear to have made a good amount of flesh available for target”

Her own lips tightened in disappointment. Only when the door closed behind her, did he allow his forehead to hit the desk with a soft, tortured groan.

* * *

 **Prompt:** Lavellan takes up blood magic after the break-up/or post-Corypheus. Solas watches from afar with sadness as she no longer dreams with the focus she used to.

* * *

** Blood Dreams **

The sickness in her heart is translated in the towering briars, amongst which the scarlet droplets hang in a timeless torpor, never falling, shining with malignant grace in defiance of his hubris.  
They touch her skin as she moves amongst them, crawling over her face to form a new vallaslin, a bloodshot wolf that pulls her shifting features into a lunatic snarl. Her magic is no longer clean, corrupted by a crippled heart, her dreams as barren as the rock she treads.  
Silver flashes, her blade scything before his eyes and he feels the wetness kiss his cheeks, and tears fall like garnets in his hands.


	2. This is what happens when 100 words just won't suffice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** Sleep that became something more. Perhaps a heated dream that follows into waking, or the other way round. Too tired in reality, only to find themselves more than ready to go in dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I STILL have no regrets dammit!

Four sets of feet dragged laboriously towards the faint glow of a distant fire that seemed to never grow any closer while the haze of fatigue followed upon their heels. The war they raged across the desolate dunes known as the Hissing Wastes had poured lead into his limbs and caused his eyes to blur with exhaustion until all he could see was the glittering reflection of the moon tossed back at him in a million diamond like facets over the shifting sands. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision, turning his eyes to the monolithic stone structures that had been carved by centuries of abrading winds, their shapes archaic, almost savage, as if the very rocks warned them to flee this lonely yet undeniably beautiful place.

 

To his left, Cassandra and Talitha were compelled to keep moving by the simple expedient of leaning against each other, shoulder to shoulder, though the smaller woman occasionally tilted dangerously to one side until Varric gave a well practiced shove at her hip to make her straighten her stance again. The image was endearing, and Solas could practically see the dwarf trying to think up some well timed and likely inappropriate comment, yet even he was too tired to pick out much from his prolific store of quips and settles for a weary grin when his eyes settle upon them both.

 

Making their way through the ranks of the Venatori had been a test of both their nerve and endurance, made worse by the fact that every rock, bush and structure seemed to hold a multitude of indigenous predators  that wanted to disembowel them almost as much as the Venatori,did, and even when they were bereft of insane cultists or ravenous beasts, there were still plenty of rifts between them and every other battle, until even he came to loathe the sputtering crackle of the anchor as it’s light strove to match that of the rifts. They had persevered with an almost lunatic desperation until sense dictated that they find a camp fast before the lassitude could truly grip them, nobody wanted to be found by the bones they left behind in some gurn’s regurgitated meal.

 

Finally reaching the camp felt as victorious as closing the breach, though nobody had the strength to do much but murmur the faintest of cheers, and none of them even glance at the ram currently turning temptingly on a spit over the fire. Solas couldn’t even be bothered to raise an admonitory protest when Cassandra manages to look sly in the midst of her weariness, deftly redirecting Varric towards one tent, leaving him no choice but to follow Talitha’s drooping steps towards the other. She need not have bothered with constructing such a machiavellian romantic confrontation, there is nothing alluring about the way Talitha pawed weakly at one of the buckles keeping the thick belt cinched about her waist, as if she had forgotten what a buckle actually was.

 

Though it still remains endearing.

 

He was far too tired to worry about the boundaries of temptation as he gently knocked her hand away and loosened the buckles himself, though he did spare a soft smile when she all but faceplanted onto her bedroll the moment the belt came loose, refusing to lift her face from the makeshift pillow of her own pack as she wriggled out of the dalish robes, leaving her only in her breast band and leathers. Ordinarily he would be mentally pointing out the precarious nature of this situation and his own wavering will, but she is asleep before he can even shrug out of his own pack, and the removal of his tunic was a mundane necessity and not a potential trap that might exacerbate the unspoken strain that lurked within their strange relationship.

 

Sleep was the more insistent lover now, it wrapped covetous arms about him, cradling his spent body as he finally settled upon his own bedroll, the weariness finally coalescing into a heavy pull that dragged him willingly into darkness, and there wasn’t even time to wonder what he would dream beneath the heavy gaze of that silver moon.

* * *

The moment his conscious was expelled into the waiting dream, he was aware that he was caught in _her_ dream rather than the ancient retellings of some long forgotten dwarf’s memories. For one, he was undeniably in Crestwood, the stone wolf statue the very same one with which she first surprised him by laying a gleaming obsidian shard between its paws in affectionate tribute. Just a few steps away lay the mouth of a cave. She had declared the area within its stone walls as ‘enchanting’ even before they had to dispatch the trio of angry Wyvern’s that had greeted them.

 

He released a long suffering sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose when he noted that his chest was as bare as it had been when he’d fallen asleep, though for this there was nobody else to blame but his own subconscious, and possibly Cassandra who might have been even more devious than he realised. With resigned feet he entered the shelter of the cave, the musical lull of gently disturbed water guiding him to the pool where she sat.

 

Like him, she had come to her dream wearing only that which remained upon her physical form back in the tent, but she had shunned the leathers and now lounged in only her smalls and the breast band, ignorant of his approach at first, her attention drawn to a small, wooden bowl set before her. He was glad for that initial ignorance, because right that very second his body didn’t care a damn for any of the usual warnings or recriminations his mind might care to throw between them like a barrier. He has never seen quite so much of her before, and the sight of that toned and exposed flesh ignited a vicious heat in his gut that stretched down to his loins and caused him to grip rough stone hard as he bit back a small, strained sound.

 

He was no stranger to the trap of lust, but it had never hit him quite so forcefully as it did now, smashing through his careful defences as if they were comprised of nothing more than the thinnest of parchments. He was immediately helpless against his own intentions now, as much a slave to desire as the next man, despite all the desperate subconscious warnings that now drifted away as easily as a feather caught on the wind.

 

And then she unknowingly went ahead and made things so..much...worse.

 

He breathed softly through suddenly arid lips as she dipped two fingers into one of the bowls, the digits coming away a vibrant green that she then brought to the pale skin of one arm, her careful hand guided to draw flowing lines and delicate whorls over her flesh. Solas had seen the Dalish paint themselves in this manner for several reasons, whether for a particular hunt, a marriage or even to precede a ritual, but never has he seen it done with such unconscious eroticism as she does now.

 

He must have made a sound, perhaps his own indrawn breath or maybe the slow but heavy slam of his heart in its ivory cage, either way she turns to see him standing there, her slumberous eyes slowly widening at the sight of him, and he doesn’t need to look too closely to see the very same heat that now gripped him, reflected back at him from those deep blue waters. Caution, good sense and propriety trembled on some invisible edge, clinging to each other like the last survivors in the sudden cataclysm of lust, and when her lips parted to whisper his name they tumble and are swallowed up by the churning rush of blood through his veins as his feet begin their decisive stalk towards her.

 

She could see that darkling heat in his eyes, he could tell by the further widening of her own, a shard of anticipatory fear accentuating their cobalt depths, and for once he feels neither shame nor recrimination for that fact that he _liked_ that look on her. He took pleasure in the way that his proximity made her shiver as drew his flushed frame down behind her, his legs unfolding to cage her body between them, head dipping to sample the fragrance of ashen hair as he casually drew both arms away from her body until her palms were resting upon the cool grass beneath them.

 

The memory of the sun’s warmth still permeated her hair and there was no voice of reason that could stop him from burying his nose beneath the thick strands to find the nape of her neck, seeking the all consuming scent of her lyrium touched skin, and beneath that, the headier scent of her want. He breathed her in, fil

ling his lungs with her very essence and making no apologies when the resulting rush of natural pheromones hardened him against the press of her rear.

 

Even in her dream she was cautious, her memory serving her too well in reminding her of all the times he has pulled away from the dangerous precipice of mutual desire, and even now she was compelled to control the rise and fall of her breath lest he flee once more.

 

This, he would not allow. Not now. Not here.

 

His own hand dips into the bowl, elegant, tapered fingers now  stained with the same green, the proud sweeping angle of his jaw resting upon her shoulder, the better to see the goose flesh that rose in the wake of those fingers as they picked up where she had left off, following the vibrant design down the length of her arm. Fingertips tingled pleasantly as his design ended with one last spiral drawn into the centre of her palm, while his mouth turned to the enticing curve of her throat.

 

He practically felt that careful restraint abandon her as he stroked her pulse with the heat of his tongue, tasting the salt of her flesh before he bit softly at the tiny fluttering thing that thrummed beneath delicate skin. She exhaled in a sudden rush, and a careful tilt of his eyes allowed him to witness the way her free hand now fisted in the grass, a slightly harder bite just below her ear causing those blades of grass to be ripped free in her twisting grip.

 

His free hand slid over her shoulder and cupped her exposed throat, sliding up its arched length as his immoral whisper brushed against her ear.

 

“Be still  ma’ lath, you will spoil the design”

 

It was a cruel command made crueller still when his mouth closed around the edge of her ear, the sucking pressure of those lips making her tremble against him as his fingers dipped into the bowl again. They resumed the path of their design from the ball of one shoulder, curling down the line of her collarbone as she released a tortured whimper and dug her fingers into the moist earth. The intricate lines he drew, now hovered just above the heaving swell of her chest for just a moment before the calculated scrape of teeth at the edge of her ear, combined with the decisive dip of his fingers into the small hollow between her breasts and the cloth that bound them so tightly in place.

 

His visit here was brief, though his tongue offers no such mercy while it soothed the rend of his teeth, and her retribution is not subtle when she slips a hand behind and between them to cup the growing stiffness still restrained behind soft doeskin leather. He gritted his teeth and for a moment it is _his_ hand that shakes, almost ruining the abstruse design making it’s way down her other arm. He indulged her for just a moment, rocking against her palm before his grip left her throat and found her wrist pulling it up high enough to trap  the adventurous hand between his chest and her back.

 

“Tch, do not make me start all over again vehnan”

 

“Start….again? Oh you are a bast...AHHH!”

 

Her breathless incredulity was cut off when his teeth sank into her shoulder in a possessive claim, pain barreling into pleasure, making her writhe like a captured serpent against the cage of his body. It was almost too much for his own patience to take and now his indomitable will was forcibly directed at keeping his own violent need in check. When his mouth reluctantly let her flesh be, he found compensation by hooking his feet behind her ankles, widening the bent angle of her legs and exposing her inner thigh to his not entirely artistic intentions.

 

He painted that delicate, quivering skin with an excruciating care, reaching the very apex where hip met groin, his confident audacity only allowing the heat of his palm to ghost over the sacred space between before he began the task of painting the opposite thigh with just as much devious attention to detail. She whined like a petulant child and her trapped hand dug blunted nails into his chest while her legs strained against his own. The hand that had been stroking the flat plains of her stomach in an almost soothing gesture, now responded to this sharp sting with a sudden downward plunge that drove fingertips beyond the soft cotton of her smalls to find the wanton promise of slick, scalding heat.

 

His spine snapped with a sharp shudder when her heated cry combined with the velveteen fever of her sex, his fingers gliding over that soaked seam to mercilessly seek out the secretive gathering of nerve endings with an accuracy that had not been forgotten over the countless long years of his unnatural slumber. He plied this swollen flesh with rapid circular motions that had her abandoning any restraint left to her, the demanding tilt of her hips answered by his unoccupied hand as it slid over the curve of her thigh and tugged damp cloth abruptly to one side.

 

A low growl rumbled from the depths of his chest and pressed against her throat as fingers slipped inside clenching heat as deep as they could go, their counterpart now disturbing the building rhythm of those quick circles with a sharper press against inflamed nerve endings, forcing a keening cry from between her laboured breaths. He didn’t need to move the fingers now buried inside her, her hips had found their own desperate motion and she bucked against their invasion, galloping towards that sensation long denied to both of them. He did not restrain her movements now, his own fascination with how she slid so easily into the pattern of her own need wouldn’t have allowed it, all he could do was let his hands become the instruments she so badly needed to reach the aching crescendo she strove for, the unforgiving pressure of his fingers guided by her mounting breath and the climbing pitch of her cries.

 

Her one free hand now ripped furrows in the earth, her strong legs gaining leverage enough to lift her rear from the ground to bury skilled digits just that little bit deeper, her own short and feral growls scattered amongst hard, panting breaths and fitful moans. He waited until he could sense she was mere moments away from the very precipice of her rising pleasure before his head bowed to claim her flesh with his teeth once more, fingers thrusting suddenly and rapidly in time with those that resumed the relentless circles over seared nerves.

 

Her scream was a rising wildcat call that was thrown back at them in a hundred disembodied echoes as she thrashed against his hands and scraped blind, bloody lines into his chest. For just a moment his connection to her was so strong that he saw the blinding white of her pleasure exploding behind his tightly closed lids, and his teeth deepened their claim until the salted copper of her blood touched his tongue. His own body throbbed in sympathetic pulses, and when his own strangled cry mingled with her shrieks, he felt something shatter between them in beautiful, crystalline tones.

 

* * *

 

He awakened both startled and gasping for air that was suddenly thick with heat, the mingling scent of sweat and something far more primal. He seeks her out with a quick turn of his head, only to find her wide eyed and shivering, her stare made all the more intense by pupils that were blown wide and the way her glance kept trying to shift away as if she were frightened. Instinct made it obvious that her fear is not of _him_ but of what she assumes she has caused to happen, that faltering of his will surely the product of her accidental lure. He saw the burgeoning shine of tears welling and the apology shivering on her lips and suddenly he couldn’t stand to hear her speak in sorrow for something that should have been utterly natural and only beautiful.

 

All his carefully constructed defences meant nothing against the need to never see one single tear fall for something neither of them could control, and if he were to damn himself tonight he would not have the memory of her regret hover over them like a ghost. Hands reached out, sliding over her flushed skin and drawing her body to his, her surprise stolen by lips that were feverish in their need to stall an apology that should never be spoken. For every kiss that has passed between them since their first journey together in the fade, there has always been an invisible leash about his throat, ready to tug him back sharply should he go too far. He felt that restraint snap the moment her pleading tongue whet his lower lip with a soft whimper. The urgency of his hands was blind yet still unfailingly accurate now, for has he not had plenty of time to memorise the shape of something that till now, he could not have?

 

Deft fingers made short work of the knot at her back, the breast band coming away with just a few short tugs, while his other hand matched the plunge of his tongue into her willing mouth by pushing its way into her unbound hair, tightening at her scalp when his palm closed about the firm weight of one breast. The world outside the tent no longer existed, nor did any curious ears that might be straining for the small, sweet noises he pulled from her throat with just a stroke of his thumb over one nipple. Consequence had no business here, nor did sense, or chivalry. In this moment she was completely his and the grasping hands of the void itself wouldn’t have dragged him from her now.

 

Her own hands were just as greedy as his own, sweeping down the curve of his back to delve between soft leather and grip flesh tightly, drawing his hips to the urgent roll of her own and his hand left her breast with one last flick of his thumb over that stiffening centre, drawing its own line down her stomach to tug at lacings. The awkwardness of removing her leathers without removing his mouth from hers, was tempered by nails that scored lines of brief fire over his rear, and when his hand slipped between her thighs to find them wet with more than just sweat, he bit gently at her lower lip with a guttural groan.

 

Her hands were already scrabbling at the soft doeskin stretched taut about his hips as he hauled her over to straddle his prone body, and she tore another groan from him when she pulled the leather away just enough to free him from his imprisonment, gentle fingers curling around soft, oversensitive flesh wrapped around a solid, aching core. There was a moment of pause between them, their combined breath heavy and laboured, eyes locked fiercely as both savoured the line they were to cross together.

 

She stroked him just once and his hips rise with a harsh snarl that turns into a whispered cry of “Vehnan... _please!_ ”

 

She did not make him ask twice, and his fingers dig bruising dimples into the flesh of her thighs when her heat began to slowly envelop him. He was harder than he had ever been in his life, and the pleasure of her vice like heat buried itself in his gut like a seeking blade. He forced his eyes open to watch the glory of her slow descent, her  own eyes screwed up in what could have been called pain if not for the way her voice rose in a high, keening cry that made his thighs flex and his cock twitch in response.

 

She gazed down at him in startled wonderment when he was finally seated fully within her accepting fire, and he simply _had_ to reach up to brush a thumb across her trembling lips, caught off guard when her teeth captured him at the same time as the calculated roll of her hips stirred him in her depths. All the lonely years were melting away beneath her zealous heat as she began to move with purpose, her hands planting themselves on his chest, hips already caught in that timeless rhythm that was impossible for his own body to ignore.

 

The capitulation of his own body matched every rise and fall of her own, every roll of her hips drawing him closer to the very centre of his feral soul, that part of him that was leashed tighter than the surface desire that had haunted him. She drew it clawing and silently snarling with every sweet clench of her sex, and when it scented the blood she drew in coarse lines from chest to stomach, it surged forward with a rough growl that preceded the sudden grip at her waist with both hands.

 

He flipped them with a frightening ease, muscle writhing beneath gleaming flesh as though his own gathering lust sought to press its way through his skin to find freedom. The first downward thrust of his hips was suddenly sharp and demanding, and her answering cry called for him to do it again, and again until he was caught up in a tempo of his own making. The primitive sound of impacting flesh almost broke him then and there, and he gritted his teeth against the sudden surge of violent pleasure that threatened to unclench that tightening fist in his gut. Legs and arms wrapped around him as if she wished to climb his body, her own movements just as uncontrolled, the sharp upward jut of her hips meeting his in a rare synchronicity that simply made it all the more urgent that he lay claim to all she had to give.

 

The desirous clutch of her hands at the small of his back and flexing hindquarters caused his own hands to slip beneath her arms and curl about her shoulders, tugging her body into every sharp thrust as he felt that overbrimming need approach once more, and it was _impossible_ to ignore it a second time. He barked an inhuman sound against her throat as that old but familiar quickening began it’s unstoppable journey towards the timeless and inevitable conclusion. She buried her own scream into his shoulder when he angled his hips to roughly grind over one particular spot over and over again, and when her body made a ruthless claim of his own in harsh, ever tightening spasms, his teeth grazed her throat while he revelled in the hot spill of liquid that engulfed him and shoved him mercilessly over the edge with her.

 

His body arched in one long, quivering line, a wild cry pushing through bared teeth as his release joined hers in harsh pulsing waves that made his tensed frame shake and jerk in time with each, almost painful throb. It went on and on until he felt as though he would slip from the boundaries of his own flesh. If he had given in and bitten her right then he would have done more damage than he would ever have wanted to, and so he had to contend himself with grinding those dangerous teeth together until his jaw ached and the last of his pleasure left him in small, twitching spasms.

 

Even through the drowning haze of endorphines that now settled heavily over their limbs, he was ready for the sudden onrush of regret that had been patiently waiting for his moment of madness to come to completion, and as he rolled them both to their sides, his hands drew him to her as close as was physically allowed. He willfully ignored the desire to second guess and agonize, smothering it with the sound of her slowing breaths and the scent of her exertion that lay like a second aura above her skin. She in turn clung to him like a desperate survivor, perhaps all to aware of the voices that awaited patiently in his subconscious.

  
There was no escaping the guilt that would later claim him, but that was _his_ cross to bear and he would not have her share such a burden. And so he hid within her embrace and continued to selfishly claim her with his own, the two of them locked together in desire and denial, the loving dark taking them both in its arms now, exchanging his torment for the heavy rest of a wicked heart.


End file.
